Ferret Boy and the Mouthy Little Brat
by Ash Light
Summary: "He won't miss her, of course; it's only out exhaustion from his mother's nagging that he even puts up with the child after all. And she's only a little girl." Snippets of Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass surviving alongside each other. Draco/Astoria
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Ferret Boy and the Mouthy Little Brat

**Author**: AshLight

**Summary**: Snippets of Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass growing up together. A miserable time is had by all.

**Category**: General/Romance

**Rating**: PG

**1.**

Today's the day for another visit from some more friends of his parents – pureblood and practically rolling in it, from what he's figured out from listening in at keyholes. He's also guessed, from painful experience, that they'll have at least one simpering, big-eyed daughter for his parents to appraise and him to make – _urgh_ – 'polite conversation' with, and he's only _eight_, so why bother? He'd rather be playing Quidditch than talking to some stupid girls any day of the week

Wincing as his mother rakes an ivory comb through his white blond hair, the teeth digging deep into his skull until he's pretty sure she's drawn _blood_, Draco fiddles sullenly with the smart black robes he's been forced into the occasion, done up right to under his chin and so _itchy_ they might as well have been covered in fleas from a Mudblood. The reflection in the mirror is _not_ one he recognises. It's only when his mother grabs him sharply by the shoulder and steers him into the hall that he exhales with something akin to relief; at least it'll only be this stupid family who sees this. The sons of his dad's friends, Crabbe and Goyle, might be thick, but he's pretty sure even _they_ would laugh at him like this, dressed up to the nines and his hair plastered down tightly against his skin.

Stupid family.

His dad, as tall and imposing as ever, taps him briskly behind the knees with his cane, a gesture that makes Draco laugh even though it stings. When he's as tall and powerful as his dad, he's already decided, he'll dress in nothing but black and green and carry a real silver cane. "Now then, Draco, remember to behave," he drawls carelessly. Dad's _never_ cared about all this stuff, which is just brilliant. "You know how much your mother enjoys her little parties."

He just wishes Mother wouldn't make _him_ enjoy her parties. Still, he grins dutifully, ducking his head as Mother turns to glare at them warningly. She always talks about how she was a Black before she was a Malfoy, and has her own pride to hold up. It's one of those things he's never understood.

"They're here." Wincing as the crane flicks briefly against the back of his legs again, Draco slouches as slowly as he can towards the door. Maybe, if he takes a long time, they'll have gone by the time he gets there… "Draco!"

Maybe not.

When he finally _does_ get to the fireplace that the visitors have emerged from (slouching, scowling, and listening to hissed threats from his mother with half an ear), they aren't _quite_ the demons he's been picturing in his mind. A father, mother, two daughters – _again, urgh_ – and a little baby. He prays to whatever merciful god is up there that he isn't forced to hold it. At least the girls are looking as horrified as he is – well, the older one is, anyway. The younger of the two is busy hiding behind her mother's legs.

Honestly. _Girls_.

Draco takes an involuntary step closer to his father.

"Welcome," says his mother, in a voice that is ethereal and soft, and quite unlike the one she's been using on him all week. "Will you come into the drawing room? And this must be Daphne…Astoria…"

As his mother begins to coo over the baby – _that_ at least, he knows is pretence; his mother seems to have a natural fear of anything younger than two. He's sure Dobby cared for him for the first three years of his life – the younger of the two hangs back, peers out at him from beneath an overgrown fringe. Her eyes are big and dark, and for a moment regard him in terrified curiosity for a second before one little hand dips into her pocket and brings out a bag of sticky Chocoballs. After a few moments of doubtful anxiety, where she glances between her sweets and him for several horrified seconds, and then picks out a particularly gooey specimen and holds it out to him.

For a few seconds, Draco isn't entirely convinced. Her hand is _sticky_.

Nevertheless, a sweet's a sweet.

Tastes nice too. He can tell he's got strawberry mousse clotting up around his lips, and he _knows_ his mother will be furious for spoiling his appetite, but nevertheless he nibbles eagerly at the sugary, sickly-sweet ball. It's only when he's halfway through that he glanced up and catches the little girl looking at him. There's the merest hint of a grin on her face.

For the first time since he's entered the room, Draco manages a little smile back.

**2.**

"Shut up."

"You – you look – "

"Shut up."

Tugging at her dress, her expression one of indescribable torment, Astoria glares back at the boy, who's currently rolling around on the drawing room rug, laughing his socks off. How could Mother make her wear _pink_?

"You look really, _really_ stupid."

"I _know_!" She wails, eyes screwing up in utter disgust. As well as having to wear the world's most hideous dress in the entire wizarding world, complete with a ridiculous puffy skirt and a big bow at the back, her mother has charmed her hair into _ringlets, _tying miniature pink bows into every pristine curl. "I look like a…a milkshake!"

Draco merely snorts, before managing to prop himself up on his elbows and observe her carefully. "If we put some chocolate sprinkles and cherries in your hair we could pass you off as a strawberry ice-cream sundae," he snickers, mouth splitting into a broad grin. "Florean Fortescue could use you to advertise his shop."

"Shut _up_ you horrible boy!"

It's not as if _he_ has anything to complain about, she decides sullenly, glowering back at him as he dissolves into another fit of giggles. He's in smart, bottle green robes, and alright, his hair's been combed back more severely than usual, but no-one's making _him_ wear pink ribbons in his hair.

She doesn't like Draco Malfoy, she decides with the aggrieved air of one heavily insulted as she folds her arms with a pout, and she's never liked him. Admittedly he makes her laugh when their mothers drag them over to each other's houses, and he lets her have a go on his Comet Two Sixty when his father's not watching, but he's still a horrible, stupid boy. No amount of sneaking chocolate cakes out of Malfoy Manor's kitchen can make up for…for this. Sniffing, she turns her head to avoid watching him roll around on the floor in mirth, and once more attempts to make a neat little curtsey, just like Mother's taught her.

He's laughing even _more_.

Just as Draco's laughter reaches near-hysterics the drawing room door opens to reveal Daphne, wearing a stain blue dress and a disapproving frown. Astoria burns with jealousy to see that her sister is not wearing one frill, flounce or ribbon. Some things just aren't fair.

Daphne casts a disdainful stare at Draco. She's _never_ liked her friend, and that surprises Astoria; they have so much in common. Laughing at her, for one thing. "Astoria, if he laughs until he's sick then you have to clean it up."

Daphne's _really_ not funny.

"Anyway, I just thought I'd tell you that the guests are arriving, and Mother's expecting us down for drinks. Hurry up."

As her sister turns to leave, Astoria promptly casts herself onto the _chaise-longue _and covers her head in a pillow. Why her? As Draco's giggles begin to subside, she considers running and hiding in the cellar. It'll be comfortable – she's sure Draco will bring her something to eat.

"Come on; you heard her." A pair of arms wraps around her waist and promptly pulls her up onto her feet, before one hand condescendingly pats her curls. "It's just one Ministry party, 'Tor."

"Easy for you to say," she sniffles glumly. "I can't go down there looking like this, Draco, I'll _die_."

"You're such a drama queen. No-one can die of embarrassment, you'd have kicked the bucket hours ago looking like that." Still snickering quietly behind the back of her hand, Draco eyes her distressed face with suspicion and slings an arm companionably around her shoulders. "Look, if anyone laughs at you I'll hex them for you. Alright?"

It's _not_ alright, it never will be, because the social stigma of being eight years old and forced to walk into a room of grown-ups wearing a frilly pink dress is too much to bear – but she supposes that, for one night, having a friend to back her up will be ok. He's not _too_ bad, after all, for a boy.

Plus, Draco knows all the coolest hexes and jinxes already. She's kind of hoping someone _does_ laugh so she can see one of them in action.

**3.**

"I don't see why I can't come."

He hasn't even realised the girl has entered his bedroom until he turns around and sees Astoria fingering through his brand new Charms textbook, an expression of extreme wistfulness on her face. With Daphne going as well, he supposes she's going to get lonely soon. Astoria's always been the sort to want friends surrounding her.

It's pretty sad, really.

"You're too young," Draco points out fairly. Only yesterday when they were all practising Quidditch she fell off her broom and wouldn't stop crying, no matter how many Chocolate Frog cards they gave her. She'd be eaten alive at Hogwarts, he decides suddenly, she's just that _type_. "Anyway, you can't even use your _wand_."

Jaw juts out, arms fold. "I can. I used the Trip Jinx on Blaise when he visited, didn't I?"

That was true – it had earned him a kick for allowing a little girl to tag around after them as well. He, Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise…they'd have been the perfect gang if it wasn't for Astoria following them everywhere.

He wasn't going to miss it.

"Will you all write to me?"

"_No._" Write to a girl – a little girl two years younger than him? She must have been joking. But, as Astoria's face fell, he rolled his eyes expressively, making a face at him. "I'll send you some Hogsmede sweets, alright?"

Suddenly, one little hand latched onto his arm, nearly pulling him off balance. "I'll miss all of you."

It's only by a skilful twist that he detaches from the vice like grip. _He_ won't miss _her_, of course; it's only out exhaustion from his mother's nagging that he even puts up with the child after all. And she's only a little girl.

He can't wait to get away from her.

**4.**

"You're different." He is as well, paler, if that was possible, a little taller, and he scowls a lot more. Unlike Daphne, who came home fairly buzzing with all the things she'd done and seen at Hogwarts, Draco had got off the train _sulking_. How could he do that, when he'd had his first year at Hogwarts? It didn't make sense. "Did you get picked for the House Team?"

This, she thinks, is sure to cheer him up, but his sulk only deepens further, arms folding in a threatening gesture. "No." Draco grumbles, making a face. "_Harry Potter_ did, just because of his stupid scar, and his stupid _broomstick_ – everyone thinks he's so great – big Quidditch hero – " Trailing off, he glowers at the ground for a moment, before brightening up, a wide, triumphant smirk on his face. "But I'm going to play Seeker on the Slytherin team this year. Did you know that?"

She shakes her head politely, and listens as he raves about the new Nimbus Two Thousand and One and how his father's put in an order for him _already_, and won't that show that big-headed show-off Potter? He'll show her as soon as it's delivered, and maybe even let her have a go; and this'll make him the best player on the entire field. Potter just won't have a chance.

Boys, she decides, are crazy.

**5.**

There's a pain in her knees from where she's tried to drag her suitcase through the train by herself, a crick in her neck from looking for Daphne, and there's a possibility she might start crying. But she won't, because this is her first day at Hogwarts, and she's old enough to be brave now, and she _won't_ start crying –

And then a wand smacks into the back of her head, nearly pitching her forward, and she honestly feels she might start sobbing any second now.

"Watch where you're walking." The girl holding the wand snarls, somehow looking as if the entire episode's _her_ fault. She's petite and dark, and Astoria doesn't know why, but she has the sudden urge to hit her.

Maybe because she's tired and ill-tempered and Daphne's ran off with her friends without even saying goodbye, but she glowers back up at the girl. "You poked _me_ with your wand." She points out sullenly.

It's not until the girl's hands jam down on her hips, eyes narrowing darkly that she realises that, while she's quite petite, she's still _bigger_ than her. And as for the girl behind her, the one that looks like a _hag_ – well, it's no wonder Astoria backs up until her back hits the side of the carriage. "_Excuse_ me?"

She's dead.

"I only said – "

"Well well; what's going on here?" It's a new, pleasantly deep voice drawling out above the riot of students that catches her attention, and both she and the girl turn around with a start to see Draco Malfoy swaggering down the corridor of the train, blond hair flicked carelessly out of his eyes. "Not bullying first years, are we Pansy?"

So _that's_ Pansy Parkinson? She's heard Daphne talk about her fellow Slytherin before, but she never pictured someone so…nasty looking. And touchy. Blinking in confusion, a flood of relief fills her as she sees Daphne out of the corner of her eye, and her big sister winks at her. No harm can come to her, not when she's under the protection of her big sister. And Draco, of course.

He's so much _taller_ than she remembered, so that the top of her forehead barely touches his shoulder and she has to crane her head to see the familiar flash of grey eyes. And as for Crabbe and Goyle – well, she's surprised their heads don't knock against the carriage roof. Awe-struck, surrounded by the giants that used to flood her family home every summer, Astoria is empowered enough to flash a triumphant glare at the girl.

Draco must have caught the smirk that she directed at his girlfriend, as a matching, equally wide grin spreads broadly across his lips, and he loops an arm companionably around her shoulders. The pressure makes her stagger a little, but at the same time gives her enough confidence to lift her head up high. "Right little Slytherin you are." He laughs, leading her into the carriage that he and his friends have already occupied. "You _will_ be in Slytherin, won't you?"

"Of course she will." Daphne interrupts before she could answer, slinging her case into the rack. She gives her dark hair a contemptuous flick. "What kind of stupid question is that?"

It _is_ a stupid question, because of course where would the daughter of a proud, pure-blood family go, especially when the elder sister is already in Slytherin? Effectively put in her place, Astoria is left to ponder the question as she sits down in between her sister and Draco, content to watch the older students play Exploding Snap. She _wants_ to be Slytherin, of course she does, and yet there's a tiny little part of her that's frightened by the dark glamour that the teenagers hold as they laugh and sneer together.

When the Sorting Hat bellows 'RAVENCLAW' throughout the Great Hall, she freezes in her seat a split-second too long, enough to prompt giggles, and then sprints to her seat to hide behind two great, hulking fifth-years, her head in her hands. Her cheeks are flaming, knees trembling; but she's still shocked to feel a small, burning flame of relief at her core.

Surprisingly, when she leans over to try and spot the Slytherin table, it's not her cousins, who are talking urgently behind their hands, or her sister, whose face has drained of all colour, but Draco Malfoy whose attention she catches. His mouth has dropped open, his eyes are wide, and he only meets her stare for a couple of seconds before abruptly turning away.

She supposes everything's going to change now, anyway.

-0-0-0-

tbc....please review!


	2. Chapter 2

**6.**

"Why did you do that?"

"Do what?" He glances around irritably, already late for Potions – not that it matters…come on, _Snape's_ taking the class – and yet here's little Astoria Greengrass blinking up at him with her big wide eyes, braids held up by blue ribbons and one sock slipping down from her knee. For Merlin's sake, she's a moving target to any halfway-decent bully, and he really _should_ tell her this, but…she's a Ravenclaw now. He can't be _nice_ to a Ravenclaw.

"You know." Astoria shifts uncomfortably on the spot, chewing on her lip. "Call Hermione Granger…the M word."

Draco nearly bursts out laughing. He's being held up for Potions for _this_? "Because that's what she is, idiot."

Her frown merely deepens. "Yeah, but it's still not a nice word."

Great Gargoyles, she can't be her father's daughter. He's heard of Old Man Greengrass pushing for legalisation to hunt Mudbloods down like the old days, and now Astoria's worrying about one little… "That's what she _is_." He repeats with laboured patience. "She's a Mudblood, and she hangs around with blood traitors and…why do _you_ care anyway?"

Fold of arms. Narrow of eyes. _This_ is the Astoria he remembers…the one he couldn't go near at all during the summer holidays because she'd started an obsession with practical jokes…and getting angry when he outwitted her. The Astoria _he_ knows does _not_ care about Mudbloods.

"Because it's unfair." She grumbles. "That's what all the older Ravenclaws say. She can't help where she was born, can she? And she's still a good witch."

…He'd better tell Daphne that her little sister's lost her mind.

"I'd…better go." Draco gestures vaguely in the direction of the dungeons. It's not that he's worried that insanity might be catching…he's just…late. "Potions…you'd better get to your lessons, Greengrass…don't need any teacher's pets being late…"

On hindsight, maybe he shouldn't have said that. There's a jerk around his ankles as the Trip Jinx winds itself competently around his lower legs and yanks him smartly off the floor.

"I hope that Hippogriff slices your arm off the next time!" is the last thing he hears before she storms off.

Really, first-years. Awfully temperamental.

**7. **

"If you laugh, I'll kill you."

"I'm not laughing." She _isn't_, but it's only by an extreme amount of effort. The merest glance up at Draco reveals his messed blond hair, his stricken expression; and she's forced to press her mouth against her Potions workbook to stop herself from giggling again.

There's an extremely aggrieved twang to his petulant voice. "Cut it out, Greengrass!"

"I'm sorry – I really am, sorry." Of course, this is the biggest lie she's ever told, and they both know that. How could she possibly be sorry for seeing Draco Malfoy – by now affirmed in her mind as the biggest bully Hogwarts has ever housed – transformed into a _ferret_ and bounced throughout the Great Hall? At least she's not laughing outright; just now she heard some _first-years _snickering at the boy as they went past. Draco's reputation isn't just bruised, it's well and truly battered.

Which is probably why he's sitting here with her. She was just sitting on one of the benches ringing the Entrance Hall and suddenly Draco sat down with a heavy thud next to her, a glazed expression of utter horror on his face. Since she joined Hogwarts he's barely spoken to her, saving the occasional, cool insult at the back of her head as she hurries past him and his gang of _louts_, so why should she care about him now? At home he's only just bearable – merely _deigning_ to talk to her, occasionally tossing her snippets of conversation, a stale bag of sweets, an rare ride on his Nimbus…always patronising, always reminding her that she's just a Ravenclaw, that his attention is merely pitying charity work – but at school he's a downright menace. She's beginning to see what everyone else sees – that Draco's just a spoilt, irritating, bullying brat.

"I _swear_, that Moody's going to answer for it," his voice growls darkly, and with a start Astoria realises he's still been talking this whole time. His fists are clenches at his side, so tightly that the white of the bone nearly shows through. "I swear, when my father finds out about this, he's going to pay for it."

"Daddy's little boy."

Her voice is a definite sneer, the tone one she's unconsciously copied from Draco himself, and there's a stab of triumph as he glances around, a flash of alarm in his grey eyes. She's spoken back to him before, of course she has, but not like _that_. And not when he's been so alarmed. His jaw tightens. "You don't get it, do you?" he snaps back sourly. "When everyone finds out about this…"

"Your reputation will be more pathetic than Longbottom's." She's heard it before. Her eyes roll. "Is that why you're sitting next to me – because you're not big enough and bad enough to hang around with anyone else?"

She can practically _hear_ Draco seethe as he gets to his feet with a peculiar, jerking motion. "Fine – I'll leave you to your books then Greengrass."

"Fine!"

"Fine."

**8.**

Whoever thought up the damned Yule Ball must have been snorting fairy dust for the majority of the summer, Draco decides disdainfully as he sidesteps a pair of slow-dancing Hufflepuffs, carelessly treading on the girl's dress as he does so. He's only just managed to escape from Pansy (thank-you _God_) and is already planning the immediate removal of a large quantity of mead from the judges' table when he crashes – nearly headfirst – into Astoria Greengrass. Feet slipping on the polished surface beneath him, Draco grasps hold of the table, before turning to glare at her warningly. After being forced to dance for over half an hour with Pansy, his temper is understandably frayed.

"Watch where you're going, will you?" He snaps.

Raising her chin, the girl folds her arms stubbornly. "_You_ walked into _me._" She grumbles.

Alright, maybe that's true – but there's no way he'll say that out loud. Determined not to admit he was wrong, Draco merely makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, doing a brief double-take at Astoria. He's walked into her because she's practically blending into the background; her dress one of shimmering, fluid material, all shining silver and grey that clings to (he couldn't help but notice) newly developing curves. Taking a step back, Malfoy looks her up and down appreciatively, making sure to make it obvious. She looks quite good, actually – for a second-year. He's been insulting her rather a lot this year, ever since the – _shudder_ – ferret incident, but with all those cleverly directed jibes about her hair he's never once stopped to try and check her out.

"You don't look too bad, Greengrass." He drawls carelessly, smirking as the girl's colour rises. "Isn't this a bit too old for you, though?"

Astoria folds her arms sullenly, eyes flickering from side to side impatiently. He realises with another smirk that she's looking for Daphne to pull her out of the conversation, and deliberately shifts position so he's in between her and the rest of the Great Hall. The girl's scowl merely deepens. "Terry Boot asked me. He's in my House."

He knows exactly who Terry Boot was – he shared Herbology with the Ravenclaws – but still, the news makes him gape for a brief moment, before he shakes his head impatiently. There's the sudden, undeniable urge to perform an _Unforgiveable_ on Boot. "_Boot_? You've gone to the Yule Ball with _Boot_? He's an idiot!"

"He's not an idiot, he's a _Ravenclaw_."

Draco dismisses this statement with a wave of the hand, leaning across to rest his hand against the table so that any escape route is cut off. "He shouldn't be playing around with girls half his age anyway."

"He's lovely."

"Not the word I had in mind. You must be blind and deaf." Smirking dryly, he waits just the right amount of time until her pallor goes as red as Weasley's hair. "Make sure you keep an eye on his hands, 'Tor."

It's the first time in nearly two years he's called her by her first name, and so, through some ridiculous sentimentality that all young girls seem to keep hold of, she should listen to him, shouldn't she? But instead the little second year puts her nose in the air and wheels around abruptly, muttering – he's sure – copious swearwords and curses under her breath. It doesn't matter, he reminds himself – Astoria Greengrass can take care of herself, and if she can't then he's pretty sure her sister will curse Boot from here right into the middle of next week.

But half an hour later, when he's been recaptured and dragged back onto the dance floor, twisting Pansy around gracefully – those dance lessons his mother had forced on him are actually starting to pay off, _not that he'll ever admit it_ – Draco's attention is caught by a sudden movement from the doorway leading out into the gardens. His feet moving as if automatically, he cranes his head to glance over Pansy's dark bob of hair to see Terry Boot slip back into the Great Hall - followed by Astoria, who's tucking her hair back behind her ear from where it has come out of place.

For a moment his mouth drops open, and when he steps on Pansy's foot he doesn't even notice her protest.

Well, that's just…she really can't, that's just…completely wrong, is what that is.

He doesn't even know _why_ it's wrong, it just is. Astoria can't go snogging boys that were two years older than her, that's just…sick. And wrong. And…really disturbing.

And Boot is going to answer for it.

It isn't that he's a particularly malicious boy, although _certain parties_ would probably argue otherwise. And it's not that he particularly cares about what mess Astoria Greengrass gets herself into, sweet Merlin no. She can dance with any boy she wants, she can snog in the Hogwarts gardens until the cows come home. He wouldn't care.

But she can't go hanging around with a moron like Boot, two years older than her and probably with all the finesse and many-handed eagerness of an octopus. That sort of thing's just an incendiary to…well, unwanted attention, after all. She should look after herself more.

So at the end of the evening, Draco pauses at the foot of the stairs where Boot's waiting for Astoria to put down her Butterbeer and follow him – classic mistake all in itself…Astoria never could be trusted with any kind of drink, even Butterbeer. _Honestly_, anyone who knows Astoria knows that – and has a quiet word with him. Nothing major…just a discreet mention of a couple of illegal curses and where exactly they will be aimed on Boot's body if he continues to go out with Astoria Greengrass. Nothing to get upset about, surely.

After all, he spent a lot of his childhood hanging around the Greengrass manor. He's practically a friend of the family. He's only _looking after her_, after all.

**9.** This isn't _exactly_ significant, but should be, when he rounds a corner to go back to the common room a few weeks later and finds Astoria hanging around in the corridor, her sweet features dissolving in misery.

"Astoria, darling." Unlike his current squeeze, Pansy Parkinson, who considers Astoria to be a 'mouthy, disrespectful brat', and despite their current enmity, he's amused to find he's beginning to rather like little Miss Greengrass. She may be suspicious and disapproving, but her pursed mouth is sweet, and she has a natural aptitude for jinxes and curses. She knows how to hold her own against his band of accomplices, and with a little effort could be trained up as a useful co-conspirator very easily. Besides, her jaundiced view on life in one so young is quite endearing, really. Keeping an eye out for any prefects, Draco smoothly speaks the password for the common room and leads her inside, taking her up to the boys' dormitory – she's a Ravenclaw, that's true, but who's counting? Besides, after the rollicking he got for 'blatantly sexually harassing my sister' from Daphne, he figures he owes her. Patting the bed, he smirks as Astoria's red eyes widen, taking in the oriental rugs, an antique gilt mirror and fur bedspread. Who says the Malfoys can't take care of themselves?

"It's very cruel to have fur rugs."

"I am very cruel. Now, what's the matter?" Stroking her dark hair until the hiccups and sniffles have subsided, he reties the blue ribbon in one of her plaits with a gentlemanly flourish. "Were you waiting for Daffy Daphne?"

"T-Terry Boot," the younger girl hiccups. "He d-dumped me yesterday. He said I was too young for him!"

If Draco is anything like anyone else, he would be felt the first surges of guilt. As it was, the beginnings of a smug, self-satisfied smirk are starting to creep through his face - which he makes sure she doesn't see.

"The bastard," he murmurs non-commitedly, his voice smoothly courteous. Leaning over to scrabble under the bed, he triumphantly plucks a bottle of Firewhisky from his secret stash and pours a generous amount for each of them. "You want me to hex him for you?"

Shaking her head firmly, she lets out another hiccup before tightening her lips firmly. "That'd just make me look even worse."

"Not at all. I can make _him_ look even worse, if you like."

"I-It's alright. Thank-you."

"Young Boot needs sorting out anyway," Draco drawls thoughtfully. It's true, as a matter of fact – he's always thought that the boy's a bit too cocky for his own good. The fact that he's been taking out Astoria? Just coincidence. Boot shouldn't be going out with little girls anyway. It's about time he started taking an interest in the young girl's welfare, after all. She might be a Ravenclaw, but she's quick, and she could do a lot better than Terry Boot.

He _should_ be feeling guilty, but he doesn't. There's only a satisfied, well-pleased feeling in his stomach. Why should he feel anything else?

Two days later, he hexes Terry Boot during Herbology. It's quite amusing, really. And he deserves it.

He's sure the Ravenclaw's hair will grow back eventually.


	3. Chapter 3

**10.**

In her third year, Astoria ends up kissing Draco Malfoy.

She isn't even sure how it _happens_. Well, yeah, she is – all that stupid Peeves' fault, casting Sticking Charms beneath the bunches of mistletoe in the corridors. She'd been _laughing_ over it with Draco, watching it as a pair of blushing first years tried to unstick their feet from the floor, and then – and then her feet won't move anymore.

"What the _hell_?" Beside her, Draco's making an extremely comical effort to jump up and down off the floor, which she really wants to laugh at – if she wasn't struggling so much herself. "I bet it's some stupid prank of those blood-traitor twi – oh."

She's still rocking backwards and forwards on her feet when she blinks up and sees the seemingly innocent spring of greenery hanging above their heads.

"Oh."

He's fingering his wand rather longingly, as if the most pleasing thing in the world to him right now would be to blast that single clump of shrubbery to kingdom come. "You know, I always thought that menace Peeves should be completely banned from the school buildings themselves. Banish him to the Forbidden Forest, that's the only thing for him."

"Uh-huh." Carrying on with stilted conversation seems the only option available to her because honestly, it's Draco and _she can't very well kiss him, can she?_ Ever since the Yule Ball last year he's actually been a lot nicer to her – indulging her and allowing her to pass by his little gang without comment, even talking to her in public. She's sure it's a mild form of teasing…absolutely _certain_ he's being patronising…but he's still been nicer. And she can't kiss him. It's Draco. It's Draco Malfoy. She can't do it.

A small snicker escapes from his lips – she's _trying_ not to be aware of the movement of his mouth, but honestly, it's difficult – as if he's well aware of what she's thinking. "Look, I don't like it any more than you do, but the only other option's staying here until the charm wears off."

"Fine by me."

His eyes roll pointedly. "The only problem with that solution, 'Tor, is that it's dinner in ten minutes. These things can take _hours_ to wear off. I'm not staying here and missing my dinner, not without converting to cannibalism." Some painful show of her awkwardness must have flickered across her face, because he sighs, his tone softening just a little. "Look…as much as I admire your tendencies to get ridiculously melodramatic, it's not exactly the end of the world. Just shut up and let's get it over with."

Despite her discomfort, she raises her brows. "Is that what you say to Pansy?"

"Oh shut up, Greengrass."

Still snickering, her eyes half-closed, she's not even aware of him ducking down, adjusting his much taller body to accommodate her shortness, until he knocks his head quite neatly against hers, mouth just bumping against her own. Immediately the downward force on her feet lessens, but she barely notices. Astoria blinks, confused – she now has a tidy little bruise on her forehead, her nose is banged, but above all else she can only really think of one thing: _That was **it**?!_ It's ridiculous…she never wanted to kiss Draco, she _certainly_ doesn't want to push the matter, and she can't…she can't stop feeling somehow cheated.

"Well, I'm sure that was as good for you as it was for…" Catching her gaping at him, Draco folds his arms and glares at her. "Merlin, what _now_?"

She can hardly say what she's been thinking. "I…you knocked my head."

A snort of amusement. "Well that's not my fault – you're so damned short, no wonder I could hardly reach you." When she doesn't react in fury, as she usually would, he stares at her, before a slow, wicked smirk begins to spread across his lips. She silently cringes. "_Oh_…that wasn't enough for you, right Greengrass?"

The use of her surname's certainly noticeable, as if he's deliberately taunting her. A shudder begins to ripple the entire length of her spine, because if there's one thing worse than being stuck to the floor with Draco Malfoy for company, it's having him look at her like…that.

"I didn't say that," she remarks, setting her jaw tightly. His grey eyes sparkle quite fiendishly, and – well, she's never quite noticed how his voice sounds like dark chocolate should, if that makes any sense. Oh, it doesn't matter if it doesn't make any sense, it _does_ anyway. She takes a quick step backwards, and the gesture makes him chuckle. "You know, that's practically…sexual harassment is what it is, _Malfoy_. And why would I want to kiss _you_?"

Another dark chuckle. "You tell me."

There's no confounded Sticking Charm on her shoes, she could bolt at any moment; but she doesn't. What she does instead is quite bewildering – she folds her arms defiantly across her chest, leading back against the wall. "I just don't see what the fuss is about is all. From the way Pansy Parkinson squeals about you I'd imagine you'd cast a charm on her."

Draco snorts; his slow smirk spreading further across his lips. "You think she's making a fuss about nothing?"

She nods.

"You want to see what all the fuss is about?"

Another nod; why is she being so _stupid_?

"Alright." Still smirking, Draco picks her up bodily by the waist and places her to sit on the windowsill, so their heads are level. She's never noticed the exact colour of his eyes before. "Close your eyes." He instructs, and then leans forward and -

Well, for a week or so after that she can't even _look_ Draco in the face. Hurrying past the Slytherin table with her head averted, shrinking behind piles of books in the Library whenever he entered, hiding behind Daphne in the corridors; and then tightening her eyelids and summoning up memories in her mind. It's only when that bloody Pansy Parkinson casts the Stinging Hex on her and says she'd been hearing rumours involving her and mistletoe, and if she ever went _near_ Draco again she'd answer for it, understand you filthy little Ravenclaw, that she can summon up the courage to approach him again.

He hadn't even _noticed, _that was the strange thing. While she'd been hiding behind suits of armour and daydreaming wistfully in Transfiguration, he'd been twisting himself round Pansy Parkinson. That was the thing.

The very next Hogsmede trip, Astoria finds a group of boys her age to walk with and never looks back.


	4. Chapter 4

Year long absence? Really?

And yes, number twelve isn't strictly canon, but I like to think it might have happened. And yes, Draco would insist that he merely couldn't cope with Daphne's nagging, should her little sister have been killed by another attack. Of course.

**11.**

That summer – as if all his nightmares have come to fruition at once. Father; in Azkaban, his letters written in a jarring, spidery hand that looks nothing like his own, the contents of which his mother will not let him read. The Ministry snooping in at every turn, flitting through their home at every opportunity until it's no longer a surprise to turn a corridor and see some flat-footed official poking a fat nose into the corner. The Dark Lord – _their_ Dark Lord – returned.

And the mission. The mission that no-one else can carry out, that only he can do.

Mother sobs, and shivers, and can barely speak for days on end. Aunt Bellatrix congratulates him and pats his cheeks a little too softly for comfort, and practices Occlumency with him until every memory he has is torn open and his thoughts aren't his own anymore. Sometimes the Mark itches, deep beneath his skin.

He doesn't know what to think. Killing. Murder. He has the stomach for it, he _knows_ he can do it, and the Dark Lord has chosen him above all others – nevermind that nagging little voice that laughs in his mind and whispers that this is a lie, that this is punishment for his father's failure and nothing more – but…

It's Dumbledore. He's an old fool, a Mudblood lover, the enemy of the Dark Lord and yet…It's Dumbledore.

He can't think about it yet.

Once a week Crabbe and Goyle visit the manor and stand obediently side by side at the door cracking their thick knuckles while he reads and practices charms, nasty little jinxes at Aunt Bellatrix's prompting. Sometimes Pansy shows up, invited with hope by his mother. He does his best to ignore her. The resemblance to a pug in her face in unbelievably noticeable; he can't see how he's never realised it before. And one week late in July both Greengrass girls appear in the fireplace, reluctantly, most likely nudged into coercion by their mother. For all the disgrace that the Malfoys have been plunged into, they still have money, and plenty of it. A fact like that will never slip from Old Man Greengrass' mind.

Daphne huffs, stalks out to look at the peacocks. Astoria lingers, perched on the arm of a huge, leather-bound sofa, glances covetously at the Nimbus laid haphazardly in the corner of the drawing room; he's no time for Quidditch these days, no time for childish things. Her skirt is rolled shorter than usual, he notices with a passing glance; her hair's no longer bound up in braids.

"You look _awful_." First greeting.

They haven't spoken in months, not civilly, not since that rather awkward moment halfway through his fifth year when Peeves took to hanging cursed mistletoe all round the school. It doesn't matter.

"Shouldn't you be joining your sister to practise cackling, or something like that?"

Scrunched up nose. "Very funny. Mum wanted to pass on our sympathies for your father's incarceration." Astoria peers closer at him, shakes her head. "You really do look sick, you know."

It's on the tip of his tongue to tell her – God knows why, they're not even _close_, and he's been sworn to secrecy, and she's a _Ravenclaw_, and a snobby little swot at that – and he swallows it down. The pressure of the task in hand affecting his judgement, that's probably the only reason why. But he finds himself thinking, as the little fourth year storms off in a huff, that out of that whole family she'll be the only one daft enough to resist the Death Eaters when they come, and will most likely cling to her own bizarre moral code until Merlin knows what; and she might be an idiot for not accepting what has to come, but still, she's perhaps a little too good to be mixed up in all of this.

**12.**

Christmas time, and snow floods the grounds until they're nearly smothered by it, ghosts float by humming carols that haven't been sung for thousands of years, and Astoria's curled up in the library with a book that's almost half her own size. After four years, she has a perfect routine: try out every year for the Quidditch team and fail, spend most of her time in the library or avoiding her sister's poisonous friends if she can help it, and every time she doesn't understand a term she reads, quietly pray to whoever's watching that the Sorting Hat doesn't suddenly cry out from wherever it's kept and announce that it's made a mistake, that Astoria Greengrass actually belongs in Hufflepuff.

Hermione Granger, her with the huge hair who everyone says should have been in Ravenclaw, once caught her crying her eyes out in her second year because she didn't understand the formula for creating antidotes for poisons. She said that brains come in all forms; whether that be wisdom, intelligence, wit, or even just hardy common sense. Astoria's still not convinced she's that intelligent, not even after four years, but common sense is enough to keep her grounded. Granger's in the library now, talking to Harry Potter in murmured tones; she gives her a little wave as she glances up. Even though her sister's a Slytherin. Even though her father's being watched by the Ministry for suspected Death Eater involvement and Aurors have come to their house three times already.

"Here you go, Greengrass!" Professor Flitwick, who even now only comes up to her shoulder, passes a magnificent box embossed in silver and bound up with green ribbon – her mother's never come to terms with the idea that her daughter's a Ravenclaw – onto the desk she's studying at. "Package from home for the holidays!"

"Thanks!" Glorious. Eerie though her mother may be, she's never failed to send her daughter's supply packages at Christmas, whether they return home or no. Honeydukes sweets, fudge and nougat and sickly thick Chocoballs, a lavish selection of quills, rolls of crackling parchment; it's all here. And, because Mother's convinced that failing to achieve straight O's throughout the term means she's going to fail all her exams in one fell swoop – _thankyou __**so much**__, Mummy dearest_ – there's a subtle attempt at a bribe for her teachers: tiny parcels of the most expensive Honeydukes chocolate for each and every one of her teachers.

That's…not at all discomforting.

"Some people have all the luck." Hermione Granger, clutching an armful of books to her chest as usual and glancing over the wonderful display with amused envy in her eyes. Behind her, Potter looks over with mild interest; in the background she can see Draco scanning vividly over book upon book – _odd_ – before glancing up sharply. "That looks nice, Astoria."

Daphne sneers about what a swot Granger is, but she's really quite nice, after all. "They're not all for me. Mum's got all my teachers parcels in the hope that they'll overlook my shortcomings," she pokes her finger haphazardly at the intricate parcels, "See, McGonagall, Snape, Flitwik, Slughorn, even Dumbl – "

No-one notices Draco approaching until he snatches one of the pouches from straight under her nose.

"OI!"

"Share and share alike, Greengrass." He smirks, grey eyes glittering; it's infuriating enough to rile her until she can't even notice that he's even more devoid of colour than usual. "Don't want to ruin your figure, do you?"

That's a jibe, and a very close one, considering her skirt hugs a little too closely to her rear and there's nothing to fill out the front of her robes. She _has_ no figure, and he's being a git about it. "That's _mine_," Astoria grumbles, snatches it back. Just because Malfoy's even less popular than usual this year is no bloody need for him to be a git.

"I don't think so." Snatch back.

"Malfoy, why don't you pick on someone your own size?" Harry Potter; he really _is_ perfect, isn't he?

"Why don't you mind your own business, Prince Potter?"

Bastard. She's heard rumours that the disgrace of his father has really hit Draco hard, that he's missing Quidditch practise, homework, lessons, even disappearing for hours at a time. For now she's devoid of sympathy, keen only to get the sweets back. It's the principle of the thing. She takes a swift step to grasp at the pouch, only for him to whirl it out of her fingertips and leap back out of reach. For a moment it feels like they're dancing.

"Draco…"

"'_Tor…"_

If she'd been paying a bit more attention she'd notice his fist is curled very tightly around the package, that his jaw is clenched so tightly it even seems to be causing it pain. If she'd been paying attention she'd start to wonder why he's playing these childish games once more when all through the term he's been wandering through the halls, viewing the school with an air of perpetual boredom. But right now all she can see is that smirk once again. It isn't fair. "Give it to me!"

She makes another grab; the package comes away in her hand, the deep scarlet ribbon binding it together falls loose. The material of the package comes loose, and suddenly there is a blinding flash of purple light, the scream of noise, and the sensation of falling.

When she comes round, several days later and lying in the crisp whiteness of the hospital wing, it's to hear the dark muttering of teachers whispering over her head, of the words that gifts to the Headmaster should be searched more closely regardless of who sent them, and of the blast that carried her smack bang into an impassable shelf of books from the Restricted section. She's lucky to be alive. And Daphne sobs hysterically – and grudgingly admits she's not merely worried about what their mother will do – and Hermione Granger offers to tutor her on the work she misses, and even Luna Lovegood brings around some strange smelling pebbles to put under her pillow. Madame Pomfrey tells her that Draco had stopped by every day between classes until they were sure she would pull through.

When he visits, sheepish and clutching a _Get Well_ card from his mother, she nearly cries.

If she was a little smarter, she'd wonder how he knew to snatch up that particular package out of the several, untainted parcels; why he was so keen to get it away from her in the first place.

**13.**

Diagon Alley's different now, almost haunted; he wouldn't even be here if his school robes hadn't been torn beyond repair during that horrific run from Hogwarts. Some shops are boarded up, or else smashed in, even more have black drapes cast over the windows in prolonged respect for Albus Dumbledore. Draco doesn't even know where to look. In a few days time, Aunt Bella has reassured him, they will have taken the Ministry completely, and everything will be perfect. He should be excited. He should be happy.

He shouldn't be feeling like this.

A new set of robes draped over one shoulder, he wanders into Obscurus Books, simply because he can't bear to Apparate back home, not yet, not with the new visitors, with Him at the manor. Unlike Flourish and Botts the shop is filled with tattered, second-hand books, shelves are crooked, the entire place smells of musty parchment. It's not the sort of place he'd usually be caught dead in. In the corner a tiny old warlock is poking through a small pile of Knuts; to one side – he swears beneath his breath to see Astoria placing books on the shelf. Of all the places to take a summer job, it had to be here.

When she turns around and sees him, she nearly recoils. Rumour spreads quickly.

The next week, when he summons up the courage to go in again, she's jamming even more books on the shelf with a vicious kind of menace.

"You helped them kill Professor Dumbledore," she announces bluntly, before he can even clear his throat and announce his presence.

Bugger.

"What kind of greeting is that?" He attempts to joke, and nearly trips over his own feet backing away as she whirls around. Her arm is shaking quite badly, and Draco's already decided that if she makes a grab for her wand, he's running as fast as his legs can carry him.

"Don't – you – _bloody dare_ – make jokes."

He winces. "Right. Erm – yeah. Sorry."

Did he just _apologise_?

"What do you want?"

"More quality conversation like this?"

Her eyes flash again, rather brightly this time, and her arm shakes brusquely, so that the slender, grey wand stuck up her sleeve slips down into her hand. Bloody hell. Courage man, courage – he straightens up again, unobtrusively, enough to remind little Astoria that she's still got to be a foot smaller than him, that she's only going into her fifth year, that she'd bloody well better not hex him while she's underage. He came here for a reason, after all.

"Look, I just came to say – things are going to change, you know that." Draco speaks quickly, hurriedly, because even though he feels sick each time he wakes up and feels that _presence_ in his home, even though he's sick with fear, even though he's now doing things that make his skin crawl, a small part of him can appreciate the comedy in being threatened by such a small girl. "Things _are_ changing, and when they get do…"

He doesn't even know why he's doing this. All he's really certain of is that things are going to get bad, bad even though he's meant to believe they're good. And he once grudgingly promised Daphne that yes, he'd keep an eye out for her baby sister; and even if he hadn't he doesn't really want 'Tor to get mixed in with the rest of the bloodtraitors when the going gets tough. When they start looking for purebloods who foolishly oppose the Dark Lord, he doesn't really want her to be found. He's not even sure why.

"…well, I just thought you'd want someone to look after you, that's all."

The look of utter disgust on her face really would be quite funny, were it directed at anyone but him.


	5. Chapter 5

The drabbles continue! Seriously, the next chapter (if you can call it that) will be the last, if only because this is dragging on and I have many other fics I want to get down while the Muse is still tip-tapping away. And apologies, but this is only one drabble - even though it's possibly one of my favourite ones. Astoria does entertain me so.

**14.**

The February of her fifth year, Astoria Greengrass decides to do something really stupid.

It isn't entirely intentional. She doesn't even _plan_ to do it. It's just that – well, this year's been nothing short of hell, with a student disappearing damn near every week and rumours whirling through the halls and those ghastly Carrows stalking the halls with an Unforgiveable up their sleeve if you so much as _breathe_ wrong. She's been keeping her head down, biting her tongue whenever a particularly sardonic comment springs to mind. Possibly glancing over at that Neville Longbottom with a particularly admiring look in her eye, because he's been _so brave_, and the fact that he's slimmed down and sprouted up hasn't escaped her notice either. And don't think she hasn't received her fair share of comments for _that_, either. But this – this is wrong.

Tessie Burrows is only in the first year anyway. She's a _baby_, with soft hair still pulled up in those ridiculous fluffy scrunchies and crying for her mother in the Common Room. She's so _young_. And it was nothing more than idle curiosity that made her put up her hand and ask Alecto Carrow how Muggles could be so filthy and stupid when they've invented so much; and now the dreadful woman has her chained up in the dungeons with those _oafs_ Crabbe and Goyle – whatever sympathy she may have had for the idiot twins has disappeared like smoke this term – guarding her.

Something simply has to be done. Something rash, perhaps, something dashing and brave that will have Neville and that Seamus Finnegan looking at her with renewed respect in their eyes.

She just doesn't realise how rash until she creeps down to the dungeon and sees that Draco has taken over guard duties from his pet trolls.

So the plan of Stunning the pair before they can so much as blink needs some adjusting. Something else needs to be done, something to help that poor Tessie. The poor girl's most likely terrified! And he's sitting there, just flicking through a book with a blank expression, not shameful _or_ malicious, and a spur of the moment plan is needed, one that will catch him off-guard, something that will distract him, something that will get him so sidetracked that she can get little Tessie Burrows _out_, because the girl is in her house after all, and Ravenclaws have to stick together; and _really_, it's the only thing she can think of, it _can't_ be over-interpreted in any way…

But what better way to divert Malfoy's attention than kiss him?

It's a _rescue attempt_. She can't help remembering how stunned she was the day he grabbed her under the mistletoe in her third year; it's entirely possible she could have the same effect on him. It's _not_ an excuse. It's _not_.

She hopes like hell Daphne never ever hears about this.

"Alright Draco?"

He stands up when she approaches, wand cradled gingerly in his hand. Suspicious of her already. Tosser. "What're you doing down here, Greengrass?"

The surname is maybe not the best sign. Nonetheless she pulls herself onto the desk beside him, nimbly crosses one leg over the other and makes her best effort to smile, as if he hasn't been maddening her all year, drawing infuriation and pity in turn. Everyone says You-Know-Who's been coming down hard against the Malfoy's, and that's enough to soften the hardest heart.

"You know you were saying that if I ever needed someone to look after me this year…" She lets her voice trail off temptingly, pointedly.

He picks up the book turns a page. "Yeah?"

Good grief but he's slow. Pansy's welcome to him.

"Well, I was thinking…" Another pause, Daphne says it makes boys hang on your every word, utterly entranced. "Maybe I could…take you up on your offer?"

"Either start talking English, Greengrass, or I get the Carrows." When she doesn't answer, mainly because she's silently fuming at his utter _density, _and really, either he's utterly thick or just not interested which is just _humiliating_ all things considered, Draco puts his book down and raises his head. "PROFESSOR CARR – "

And really, at that point what can she do but grasp hold of his robes and pull him down to draw her mouth against his.

Well.

It's necessary really.

She's certainly not going to dwell on the muffled sound of surprise from his throat that for one moment could be considered 'sweet'. Or the clumsy way their knees bash against each other's, or the fact that the feel of his mouth on hers is completely different from any of the other boys'. Or the way that after the first moment of shock his arms slide completely around her, his mouth coaxes hers open, his hands entangle in her hair.

She retains the presence of mind to Stun him in due time, however.

...

When Draco finds her, she's sitting in the library and flipping through an extremely thick book on the use of magic during the Anarchy of the twelfth century. His face is extremely flushed; Astoria struggles not to smirk.

"You Stunned me," he growls without preamble.

Astoria doesn't even look up from her homework. "Yes," she remarks delicately, "and my spellwork was pretty handy too."

Alright, maybe that was a little unnecessary.

Still, his expression is hilarious.

"That was," Draco snarls through gritted teeth, "the most ridiculous, pathetic, needy thing I've ever seen you do, and _believe me_ – "

"Did you tell the Carrows?"

A blink. "What?"

"The Carrows. Did you tell them?" Tessie Burrows is by now safe and sound and bundled up with a Sleeping Draught in the dorm; surely he must have understood this?

There's the slightest hint of a blush to his cheeks. "Not in so many words, no."

"Ah."

"You mean: Did I tell the Carrows that a fourth year disarmed me and broke the kid out of the dungeons? Of course I didn't."

But there's more to it than that, she's sure of it. When she directs a tentative smile his way he shrugs, brusquely.

Students are beginning to come into the library. Some glance over to her, curiously, because Tessie is talkative and news spreads fast, and rumours spread like disease between the right people. Neville Longbottom is among them; he surreptitiously gives her a thumbs up and grins. She smiles back, shiningly, because it's gratifying to be acknowledged and he's a sweet boy and it's _so worth it_ to see the fleeting look of irritation on Draco's face.

Which doesn't mean anything, of course.

"You're utterly ridiculous."

He's grinning when he says it though.

-0-

Feedback makes the crazed shipper happy...


	6. Chapter 6

**15. **

Chaos, it's utter chaos down in the Great Hall, everyone pelting for the exits and idiot Gryffindors clamouring to stay when it's _obvious_ they're all going to get annihilated, and that moron Smith pushing through first-years in an attempt to get to safety. And some students are screaming, and siblings clamouring for each other, and all he can think is _this is it_. A chance to get out of here, to find Mum and Dad in the heat of battle and get out, get as far away from this place and Him as they utterly can. Or possibly: a chance to change everything, to make everything better.

"Tori! Tori come here, stay with me!"

Daphne shrieking, she really has lost her head, completely barmy, so loud that it even drowns out Pansy's clamouring for him to hold her hand. And Astoria, her face devoid of all colour, hastening to catch up with them. When a burly sixth year looks as if he's about to flatten her for cutting the queue he whirls around, wand at the ready. Tonight, with the whole world upside down and this one golden chance in front of him, he's prepared to do anything.

"Out of the way. _Now._"

The sixth year jumps to it, and Astoria smiles, the time for sensitivity and manners has all gone. In the clamour and shouting and hustle he can't help but think of that stupid kiss in the dungeons and her mouth under his, and then abruptly shakes himself, blinking hastily. _Not bloody now, Draco_. His eyes flick imperiously to Crabbe and Goyle; they've discussed what they have to do while McGonnagal was talking to the school. Simple. And now Astoria's watching him, eyes narrowed, probably noticed the way they're beginning to drag back, out of the crowd. She probably thinks he's going to do something completely ridiculous like fight alongside the Order, the daft bint. Nonetheless the final squeeze of her hand, coupled with a fleeting look before Daphne drags her through the throng of the students, is oddly comforting; that final look which says '_whatever you do, try not to be too stupid'_.

God, he really has been spending too much time with her.

**16. **

"Draco Malfoy, stop that at once!" McGonnagal's shrill order sounds throughout the echoing Transfiguration classroom as he reluctantly removes his arm from sneaking around Lisa Turpin's waist. "You're supposed to be testing the velocity of human transformations, not the speed of your seduction technique."

Well then, that's pretty much that. Life settles down into what could possibly be conceived as somewhat normal. The wizarding world is beginning to recover, life is beginning to transform into the way it once was, and while McGonnagal acknowledges that the N.E.W.T examination board will be considerably more lenient this year, that is no reason to _not pay attention_. And so life is the same as it always was – that is until that prat Longbottom bursts into the class, yelling his head off about a stronghold of Death Eaters in London finally surrendering to the Ministry, and all hell breaks loose again.

Sod it. It's not as if exams mean that much, not with his family's trial creeping ever closer, the inside of a cell in Azkaban waiting for him if they fail and God-knows-what if they don't. Father's money and a job at the Ministry, he supposes; some things are bound to stay the same.

"Here comes the Slytherin Lothario!" Astoria cries amid the clamour of noise as they file into lunch – deliberately to annoy Pansy, probably. She's evidently been swigging from her sister's hipflask. He makes a face and slips into a seat beside her, tucking into his lunch – no-one bothers with house tables anymore, and it's easier than sitting next to the gap that was Crabbe-and-Goyle and is now just and-Goyle.

"I can't believe you tried to take down _Harry Potter_."

And that, he supposes, is her way of telling him he's an idiot.

"We could've managed it," he grumbles derisively, if only to stop the nagging feeling that if things hadn't turned out the way they did then he, Crabbe and Goyle would all have had their arses handed to them in impressive and humiliating ways.

"Yeah right."

"As if Potter and his oiks could have taken us," he sneers, because everything's different and new now, but some things stay the same. "If Crabbe hadn't been such a prat and started firing Unforgiveables and enchanted fire left right and centre, we would have – "

"Failed." Potter's voice from somewhere behind them, when they both spin round on their seats he's grinning from the next table over. "Spectacularly. Astoria, our table's out of ketchup; could you pass some over please?"

She's grinning as she does so. Wench.

"It could have worked," Draco growls pointedly; there's no way in hell he's letting this go now.

"Don't be daft."

"It could have done."

Astoria rolls her eyes; without even being prompted she begins to spoon heaps of egg and bacon onto his plate. She even remembers to splatter ketchup and salt on the top.

"We could've done it."

"Eat your lunch, Draco."

"Just because you don't believe me…"

"Yes, yes. You know you're really not as charming as you like to think you are."

She's such a bloody pain. He really should go and find Pansy and Blaise, they're far better company than her.

But he consents to sit and eat lunch with her first. If only because the daft thing will be lonely without someone to talk to.

-0-

Aaaand - end. Hope you enjoyed!


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